Aisha must be thinking the same thing, because she says, “I’m game.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Yes, really,” she says.

Thomas says, “If you leave now, you’ll be there by eight, even if you stop a few times. Lois said they’d be happy to put you up.”

My mind spins with the possibilities. What could she possibly have to give me? This is irresponsible. We haven’t needed to get gas yet, but if we go farther, we will. What about food? We’re definitely going to need to start using the credit card a whole lot. But then I figure, What the hell? What’s the worst thing that could happen?

I look at Aisha. “You sure you’re up for sixteen more hours of driving round-trip?”

She smiles and shrugs. “You got the funds, I got the wheels. Let’s go.”

I pull out my phone and text my mom.

Hey mom, on the road,

doing great. How’s dad?

He’s doing Bette.

Better. Sorry. He has more energy today.

Good! Okay if we take another day?

She’s going to say no. There’s just no way she’s going to be okay with me being off with a girl I hardly know, who she hardly knows, wandering the Wild West while my dad is —

I suppose one more day would be finish

Fine I mean. I hate this silver

Silly sorry

iPhone. Always charges what I type.

I don’t answer right away. I’m getting what I want, so why be upset? And I’m not upset. It’s just. I don’t know. It’s too easy and it pisses me off, I guess.

Thanks. Luv u.

xo. Please consider calling your fate

father

Everyone’s looking at me, so I put on a smile. And then I realize I’m going to freaking Utah with Aisha, and the smile becomes a smile for real.

“So, off to Salt Lake City,” Laurelei says. “You’re taking your grandfather’s journey.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way. We’re following in his footsteps all these years later.

Thomas gives Aisha the address and phone number. Then he quickly pens a note to the Clancys, thanking them for their hospitality.

“Now these are real religious folks,” Thomas says, his tone a bit wary. “Can I count on you two to tone it down a bit?”

I look at Aisha, because I figure she’s the problem more than me, what with the whole lesbian angle. But then I realize they’re all looking at me.

“What?” I say. My jaw gets tight, but they won’t stop looking at me, so I finally just say, “Fine, fine.”

It doesn’t take much for us to pack up our things, and Thomas notices. He says, “Take the sweatpants. Both of you.”

“Really?” I say.

“Absolutely. You thought you were on a day trip. In fact —” He holds up a finger and disappears into the bedroom, and then he calls Laurelei in. After a few minutes, they return with a pile of shirts, some toiletries, and a ratty old canvas bag.

“There’s no way you’d fit in any of our shorts or pants,” he says. “But the shirts should do in a pinch.”

“Thanks,” I say, and Aisha says it too.

They walk us out to the Neon. Laurelei fawns all over Aisha, asking her did she get everything, is she sure we don’t want to stay for lunch, does she want to shower. They exchange phone numbers, just in case.

“Man, I’m gonna miss you guys,” Aisha says, burying her head in Thomas’s shoulder in a hug. I feel both glad for her that she felt so at home here, and a little sad that it didn’t work out that way for me exactly.

Laurelei takes my hand and squeezes good-bye. When she unclasps and lets my hand go, I look up and she is smiling at me, Thomas right behind her. There’s this pang in my chest that I don’t expect. He creases his lips in a way that tells me he’s sorry our visit is over. I am too.

“Thanks again for the stuff,” Aisha says.

Laurelei beams. “Don’t mention it.”

We get in the car, and the Neon kicks up trailer park dust as we take off.

“Bless you!” Laurelei yells to us.

“Bless you too!” Aisha yells back as we take a left out of the place.

I look at her. “Oh my God,” I say. “ ‘Bless you’? Next thing you’re going to tell me you no longer believe in the Porcupine of Truth. Which would be unfortunate, as it is, you know, the Porcupine. Of Truth.”

She grins. “I would never deny the existence of the Porcupine.”

We get back on the rural highway, heading south toward I-80. Wyoming is the windiest place I’ve ever been; even with the windows up, we can barely hear Fitz and the Tantrums over the gusts that whip across our windshield. We zoom past miles and miles of nothing but sagebrush, which I start calling the “broccoli of the West” as we pass cowless pastures filled with it. This makes Aisha smile.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen on this trip?” I say, deadpan. “The Clancys are psycho killers and they kill us. Or they don’t kill us, but they sell us into the sex trade.”

Aisha shoots me a look. “Don’t be such a pessimist.”

I point at myself as if taken aback. “Me? Hardly. I’m an optimist. The biggest optimist. Eternal, even. If I were an eye doctor, I’d open a practice called The Eternal Optometrist.”

I can actually feel Aisha roll her eyes. “Don’t make me sorry I agreed to this before we leave Wyoming.”

WHEN WE FINALLY arrive in Salt Lake City, it’s just before eight on Sunday night. We’ve driven straight through without stopping for food so we can get to the Clancys’ before it gets too late. The city’s skyline at night is awesome — clean and crisp, like a Disney city — and I have to admit it’s nice to be back somewhere with actual tall buildings. Even a city named after a lake of salt.

The address is in a crowded neighborhood on the north side of town, a tree-lined street packed with modern-looking houses. The Clancys’ home is older, with paint chipping off the door. I ring the bell, clutching the letter Thomas wrote, my head buzzing with anxiety. Aisha looks much more calm than I feel.

We hear scampering feet, and then an elderly woman opens the door a crack.

“Hello?” she says. I can only see a sliver of her eye and nose.

“Hi, are you Mrs. Clancy?” I say, my voice trembling.

She opens the door a few inches wider, so we can see her lined face and wispy gray hair.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispers.

I start to ask her why when a booming voice yells, “Lois, who is it?”

She shakes her head at me and speaks louder this time. “No. We can’t help you.”

She shuts the door.

Aisha and I are left standing there on her front steps, bewildered.

“What just happened?” I ask.

Aisha says, “I have absolutely no idea.”

From inside the house, we hear a crotchety man’s voice.

“They sent us a black lesbian. Goodness gracious.”

Aisha and I look at each other, mouths wide open.

“He wasn’t even at the door,” I say. “How the hell would he know —”

She bites her lip. They must have learned this from the Leffs, and I feel a twinge of anger that the Leffs would have told them that information. Not to mention sending us to stay with a bunch of racist homophobes.

“That sucks,” I say.

Aisha shrugs. “After a while you just stop listening,” she says.

Part of me wants to pound on the door and tell the Clancys that they’re hypocrites, hiding their hate behind a God who is supposed to be loving. But Aisha says, “C’mon,” and we walk back to the car and sit there in silence.

I wish I could be half as strong as Aisha. Things that would destroy me just seem to bounce off her.